


Please, Dean

by Canon_Is_Relative



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester UST, M/M, POV Sam Winchester, Pre-Canon, Wee!chesters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-15
Updated: 2014-10-15
Packaged: 2018-02-21 06:33:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2458361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Canon_Is_Relative/pseuds/Canon_Is_Relative
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Quit asking, Sammy.” The first sound he’d heard from the other side and Sam fell silent to listen, chest heaving, cheek pressed to the door. Dean’s voice was raw like he was the one who’d been yelling and crying outside a locked door for the past hour. “You gotta let this go.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Please, Dean

**Author's Note:**

  * For [millygal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/millygal/gifts).
  * Translation into 中文 available: [【授权翻译】Please, Dean/求你了，Dean](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4851281) by [Milfoil_c](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Milfoil_c/pseuds/Milfoil_c)



> For Milly, who prompted Sam saying "please, Dean," in the middle of an argument, along with this picture:
> 
>  
> 
> Sam is 16, Dean is 20.

The flimsy pressboard door was not a real barrier. Sam knew he could break it down with his heel or his shoulder, and knowing that scared him. He didn’t know what to do with his new strength, with the sudden, unexpected inches upwards and his longer reach; with the corresponding heights and depths of his rage and passion.

“Dean. Come on, Dean. Please. Let me in.”

Never in his memory had Dean denied him like this. He knew the power he had over his brother, he knew better than to wield it all the time, knew better than to plead for small things. When he was twelve he’d whined and pouted and begged for new soccer cleats because not having them had felt like the end of the world. Dean brought them home, finally, skidding into the apartment and bolting the doors, breathing as hard as if a demon was on his heels, and then he told Sam he couldn’t do that any more. _You can’t make me do stupid stuff for you unless it’s really important, Sam._ Sam had played his heart out in the tournament and they’d won, Sam was the best ever and Dean was right there at the front of the bleachers, yelling louder than anyone.

“Dammit, Dean!” Sam smacked his open palm against the door, did it again to feel the jarring, stinging pain, splinters under his skin. “Please.”

“Quit asking, Sammy.” The first sound he’d heard from the other side and Sam fell silent to listen, chest heaving, cheek pressed to the door. Dean’s voice was raw like _he_ was the one who’d been yelling and crying outside a locked door for the past hour. “You gotta let this go.”

Sam said _No_ and _I can’t_ and _Why_ and _No,_ again, a few times. _I can’t._

“Well,” Dean told him, “I can. I’m gonna forget about it. It ain’t right.”

“I’ll tell you what’s not right,” Sam’s anger erupted again and he pressed against the door, wild with the need to be closer to his brother. “You locking yourself in the bathroom like a little girl. You being afraid to face me. _That’s_ what’s not right here, Dean.”

The lock clicked and the door crashed against the wall. Sam tried to crowd into Dean’s space but his brother had anticipated him, shoving him away, both hands solid against Sam’s chest. Sam reeled, the shock of Dean hitting him knocking him more off-balance than the shove.

“What do you want, Sam?” Dean yelled, pushing him away again when Sam grabbed for his wrists. “What do you want from me?”

“You know what I fucking want!”

“You shut up about that stuff, Sammy!” Dean pointed a shaking finger right in Sam’s face. “You just shut up about all of it, you hear me? You don’t know what you’re talking about, you — you’ve gone crazy. You’re nuts, you hear? You don’t know—“

“You don’t know anything,” Sam shot back, gone cold with his rage. It was always like that, now, he thought. He examined himself as though from a great distance. He’d get so mad he was about to explode, thought he really might take one of his guns and blow someone away just for daring to make him mad, and then, this. This, like, ocean of calm. Freezing cold deadly calm and it was scarier than the thought of losing control. “You don’t know anything, Dean, but I know exactly what you’re doing.”

“Oh yeah, tough guy?” Dean sneered, drawing himself up, trying in vain to make himself taller than his little brother. “What’s that?”

Sam scoffed. “You’re tearing yourself in two trying to make it all your fault and not your fault at all, both at once. You want to say you’d never do that, never _ever_ be that freak, but if you didn’t start this then I did and it’s even worse thinking that _I’m_ that screwed up, right?”

“Sammy, you’re not…” Dean’s bright eyes were shining, closer to spilling over than Sam had ever seen them, and the ocean broke into a hundred thousand choppy waves and Sam’s icy calm was shattered. “Sammy, you don’t know what you’re asking, okay? This is so fucked up, man, you don’t—you can’t want this, this isn’t something real. Come on, hey, kiddo, don’t — don’t do that, okay? It’s okay. Listen to me, huh? It’s okay, we’re okay."

There was no one else for miles around, maybe no one else left on the planet. The Arizona sun had scorched the earth, bleached and salted it into a hard-packed impassible dead zone around the motel. Twilight brought little relief and the black rubber swings stretched and stuck to their thighs. Dean faced west, watching the setting sun. Sam faced east but only looked at the ground, the dust covering his stretched-out Chucks with the holey soles.

“Please?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“We can’t.”

“We could.”

“I can’t.”

“You want to.”

“You’re just a kid.”

“Is it cuz I’m a kid, or cuz I’m your kid brother?”

Dean finally looked at him, the muscles in his neck and jaw going haywire, his forehead so scrunched up Sam was sure he’d have old-man lines there by the end of the night. All he wanted, all he could think about, was how he ought to be allowed to reach out and smooth them away. Dean was looking at him, staring, really, studying him like he might not get to see him again, and didn’t seem to realize Sam was staring back. When he did, when he met Sam’s eyes, he shivered. “Sammy, I don’t…I don’t know how to separate it. You’re my brother, and I…”

“You love me?”

Dean’s shiver this time was more of a shudder, his whole body tensing in waves, rattling the chains of his swing. Sam reached out, hooked his fingers through the links and tugged, pulling them together to meet in the middle, and kissed him.

Dean pressed two fingers to the corner of Sam’s jaw, not kissing him back, just breathing against his lips, and Sam pulled away first. Dean let him go, watched Sam sway back to his side of the swingset while holding himself still as stone with his feet planted on the bare dirt beneath him.

Sam looked back down at his shoes and wiped his eyes, didn’t care that Dean saw him do it. After a minute he swallowed, and lied, “I’m hungry.”

Dean huffed softly. “You’re always hungry.”

Sam closed his eyes, biting the insides of his cheeks until he thought his voice might not shake. “Can we go to the burger place?”

Dean pushed himself up and off the swing. Sam heard his joints crack and pop as he rolled his neck and shoulders. A strong hand, worn and scarred and dark from sun and dirt, fell heavy on his shoulder, shook him gently. “Okay, Sammy. Let’s go.”


End file.
